Category Archives: 5THST FICTION

[Assata Wallowa, is half west African (Sudan) and half native American (Souix). She is a strong minded, ingenious, and supra-naturally empowered woman. She is an agnostic/atheist anarchist feminist. She enjoys getting involved in the random and mundane situations of daily activities and turning them fantastic. She is obsessed with radical cultural history, art and activism, street performance, and literature.]

[She lives most of the time in the urban metropolis wasteland reclaimed on the west coast after Wall street and the Federal Reserve crashed during the 2016 investment hoax. Since then, old European powers divided up the east coast, China declared an Asian cultural monopoly throughout the bible belt, and the entire southwest had been in a state of flux of sorts. The old system had consolidated into one organism where government had seized control of all corporate business when the bottom dropped out of the dollar. A second system had emerged as well through the evolution of the cultural industries, where local indy commerce was taken over by hundreds of autonomous networks engaged in histories largest non-hierarchical social system. The working name of the region became known once again as Aztlan*. The city she dwells in is called Legend City*.]

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*•*+*+*+*+*+*+

“Its the same thing Alan Watts was saying minus the religiosity and poeticism.” I tried to appeal to their sense of sentimentality.
“About experience being the all encompassing reality rather than the individual’s own sensory experience?” Anais knew exactly what I was talking about.

“And Identity is the same thing as experience. Think of describing the identity of the Earth. Of course your perspective is skewed by the human condition and its point of relevance at any given time. Tell someone what Earth meant say before Copernicus, like 1000 years ago during the dark ages. Now tell someone about _Earth during the time of the First Enlightenment when John Sartre and Frederich Nietzsche were alive. Your entire story would change depending on what epoch you were standing at explaining about identity. The Earth is obviously much more dynamic, but the individual is much more dynamic than we think as well.” Damn. That Earth analogy just popped into my head.

“So, I’m not who I was a few years ago?” Beauvoir, chimed in to the resonance.

“Sister, you’re not who you were a few minutes ago?” Grant Morrison would have been proud.

“Why the fuck does it matter if I’m a different person than I was before?” Anias swallowed a large sip from her Pad Thai Martini* thinking this ish is just some philosophical nonsense.

“The point is, my friend, that identity is not so much a constriction on our behavior as it is a general tendency of behavior.” I retorted. “And more importantly, the life-style patterns people carve for themselves can be altered by identity expansions.”

Beauvoir laughed spitting up some of her Black Dragon back on the plate. “What the fuck do you mean by identity expansions?’
“I didn’t make this shit up, ok, there’s chaos magician/improv poets out there doing this shit all the time trying to get the norms to stray off of their beaten path.” I didn’t feel like telling them yet, most of the free-thinkers felt that the norms were doomed to perpetual·slave-robot-hood.

“You’re not attending those OTO meetings again, are you?” My sisters were not fond of the freaks at my old order.

“No no no. This is all strictly free form. Its like a space where the magicians quit taking themselves too seriously and the poets begin to take themselves a bit more serious. Its fucking crazy. You guys should check it sometime, people do some bizarro prophetic street performance shit, and try to snap people out of their robot mode. You ever hear of the Living Theatre?”

“Yea, those hipniks that got naked and shot heroine on stage as part of the performance, back in the 1960’s?” Anais knew her 60s counter-culture.

“Those “hipniks” were fucking revolutionaries. They would have plants in the audience, incite people to react, and if they didn’t, the plant would step forward to demonstrate and initiate the interaction. It really pushed people out of the mind-frame of passive consumer. This is like Living Theatre meets Guerrilla Poets.” I knew they wouldn’t care unless they had seen what I had.
“Who gives a fuck? The ‘norms’ are not interested in being ‘snapped’ out of their reality.” Anais was the realist among us.

Maybe under the right persuasion…” Beauvoir smiled slyly to the side flapping her eyelids like giant dragonflys’ wings, slowly over-exaggerating each swish…

Anais and I both busted, blowing sea-spray martinis into the air.

Wiping my face with the hemp-blended cloth, I manage to regain linguistics and recruit “Lets get up outta here and check the Network Co-op, I hear the Brewers Guild has kicked down cases of the new nut Brown recipe.”

“Jasmine. We good?” I just had to check in with the waitress, my credit was good everywhere… Everywhere I needed to go that is.

“Drop a few coins for the sister, ladies, I got the meal.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

It was coming on 8pm and the ladies wanted to get to the show, but I felt like it would be good for us, to check the ANC, the Anarchist Network Co-op, there was a local one just up the way at the old Hotel on 1st street. We walked south down 4th to the herb(not the cooking herbs, that one is over on third) garden co-op where every stage of marijuana cultivation was in a constant process. I was a part-time volunteer down here, so I had a good eye on where the best of the fruit was kept. There’s a lab where seeds are cloned. acre-sized green house for growing, patios for shucking, wires for hang drying, screens for keef and hash, a school for learning all of the process, and a rooftop, for you know, experiencing it. I usually worked in the field trimming. I had some special strains that I had been working on with one of the lab techs, one of which was geared towards mind-clearing meditation for delving into those catatonic trance states of sensory exp…you know brain-deadishness, its called, Mind Ruin. The other one was a sensational overload aimed at turning the ordinary into a mystical experience. It can turn your day dream into wet dream, some 1990′ pop-rock into a classical symphony . .. this shit would have you staring at the ground for hours mesmerized by the non-patterns of dirt. It had been titled messianic since so many fools “find god and become one” on it.

Instead of playing with either of those we stuck to some good ol’ fashion dime store candy; blueberry bubblegum. I gave a pinch of my vanilla flavored local organic tobacco to Anais and she converted it into a spliff. The heads at the herb garden were busy working so we maintained pace, puffing down Fillmore. We were busy strolling, cackling it up, laughing about Anais’ latest victim when I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Holy shit, like a litter of kittens stashed and forgotten about, a pack of norms no older than 13. Ribs protruding, cloth barely adorning their bodies, lay huddled about each other in the shadows of a building with a paper sign asking for change.

“Holy fuck. Is this real?” Beauvoir managed to speak while Anais and I stood for seconds staring.

“You guys, ok?” I asked hoping for some dim dull spark of promise.

No answer.

“Are you guys hungry?” I felt they might need a direct route to Maslows hierarchy, rather than a side street. “Dont you guys know about the vegetable garden with the fruit trees, over on 3rd ave? Food is free, why dont you guys go get some?”

“Somehow they still weren’t processing it. I couldn’t bring them with me, I had been chewed out by most every scene around here bringing homeless norms to functions.

“Yo, lets get.” Anais was like most of my friends, she couldn’t care less about norms.

Figuring this to be another lost cause, I explain with a sincere effort, “If you guys want, there is a garden and an orchard four blocks west of here. Just walk that way, you cant miss it.”

My trio shakes it off and strolls to the ANC. It still is way beyond me, how so many people stay so hibernated in the old world way of being, rather than step outside of their routine even just for a moment, to see what else is out there. Fucking gardens and orchards in every district and these poor souls are here unknowingly condemning themselves to their own personal damnation.

This neighborhood ANC was being held at the Newsroom. It was basically a big mess hall-slash-public library that also played host to town hall and community health meetings. Most of the time people were just hanging, snacking, drinking, or partying. There was a stage there and couches for days. Most of the Network Co-ops were like that, places of refuge, where food and news would spread like wildfire. This was one of the better ones cause of the large arcade wing, and it was basically the most central, meaning more diversity and influence.

The meeting was already underway, which was good for us. I knew I couldn’t keep the ladies here with me for more than an hour, even if there was free beer. I mean if you are connected, not like kingpin drug dealer connected, or side-kick trustafarian connected, just well, even slightly connected, than most of the necessities had been anti-capped, or anticapt. It just basically meant that food, clothing, or shelter had better be free, cheap as shit, or it would be stolen and become anti-capital. It developed out of a spoof art movement in the days of chaos following the 2016 hoax. The artists were suburban white teens just fucking around, but people took it serious, or at least their project, and formed a militant group around the posters and the ideals they were sharing. Then one night about 40 affinity groups formed, most of which were in this city and they looted every single mall and high end store and burned it to the ground. While I do not totally agree with the methods used I feel that the end result, that everything is cheap as shit, is most righteous. So, even though the price of beer is peanuts in most places, I still love to drink free beer. And damnit this beer was brewed and bottled just up the street!

“At least they brought the Vanilla Cream Ale,” Anais grabbed one from the cooler and popped the top into the used lids bin.

“You gots to be kidding, they put macadamias into the nut brown. Beauvoir?” Those cats at the Brewers Guild were always mixing it up. I pop it and motion to her.

“Yea, thanks.”

“Cheers.” I grab another and we all clink with a menacing wink and a sly smile. “Eight?” Anais could kill any game of pool, but she favored eightball.

“Go ahead sisters, I want to catch some of the meeting.” I sit on top of one of the chairs nearest the back, so I can keep them within earshot.

The meeting material was pretty bland most of the time if you already knew the agendas….When the imported fruits and veggies were coming in, which garden co-ops needed assistance, which free schools needed teachers, any new art movements/projects or shows, and the news I wanted to hear, what the sustainable farms were doing. The sustainable farms had all been functioning solid with the wisdom of the elders from the Navaho, Hopi, and the Apache tribes. After the Repatriation Reparations Revolution, or R3, the native tribes reclaimed most of the southwest and they allowed Immigrants from all over to live and work on the sustainable farms. Now and again, one of the younger elders, Chakra Yakub, would speak at Freedom Universities around the SW and stop by the downtown ANC to update the people on different farm happenings. This was one of those times. The summer solstice was around the comer, so the tribes would put calls out to bring people in. I planned on relocating to one near the Mogollon Rim as soon as I handled some projects in the ‘Tropolis.

I had to time this just right to be able to keep my friends interested, and skip the preliminary meeting process and speakers. Yakub is a fucking badass, I know I have a lot to learn from him in the future. Many write him off as too radical, but I’ve witnessed his ability to connect, not just to people, but to animals, to machines, to nature. He’s been pursuing the arts of weather control, mostly cloud-bursting, but its not 100% so people lose faith. He was here now speaking of the Mike Reynolds and Paulo Solari inspired Post-Consumer Commons Castle being built on the hill on what once known as Miami Arizona. Partially dug into the mountain, it is a sort of Mad Max castle of Montezuma, with over ten layers of housing. The genius behind the project was that it incorporated rain water into the very structure, allowing it to cascade off when necessary, or collect, for cooking or cleaning. Grape vines hung in every direction providing shade and food. He was asking people to imitate the project in their own way and develop other functioning ecosystems that are able to exist with or without supervision and control. Most people felt that he was too ambitious, you could hear strictly doubt in their questions, but damn, that really spoke to me. I am definitely going up there, somewhere, soon. Theres just too much to take care of here for now.

“Ladies.” I interrupted, and slid beer 2 into their hands, and refocused with my trio.

“It was the same way with both of them. They should have ducked out and dropped off the radar once they figured it out, made their statement, and did their actions.” Beauvoir still believed that the 1960’s could have created the alternative system.

“They would have lost impact and not made their statement as loud as they wanted therefore losing the ‘umph behind their

revolutionary ideals.” Anais thought things all happen for a reason.
“Who?” I had a hunch but hate assuming too much.

“Weather and M.O.V.E.” They both snapped.

“How can you be so sure that they didn’t have members drop out?” I love casting doubt.

“The F.B.I. dropped a fucking bomb on their house, Assata! Even if people did make it out, they didn’t construct an open alternative system, which is the fucking point.”

“It wasn’t time for it.” Anais took back over, leaning against the table after cleaning up.

“Process, my friends. Process. That was just the beginning.” My philosophy always comes full circle.
“Oh, shut the fuck up. Are we catching the show or what?”

“Yea, let’s get.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*•*+*+*+*+*+*+

The E-Main (electro-magnetic train) would take us right to the club. I really only wanted to catch the main act, after that we had another affair to begin unraveling. It was coming on midnight already, which was perfect. The 2nd show didn’t start till after and lasted until about 4am. We would be outta there before that, doing what I call, restoring justice. It was simple really, we just wanted back what was rightfully ours. ‘Fuckin pigs been stealin our videos, artwork, and paraphernalia for years, and damnit, I want it back. We need it back. Its our fucking cultural history. So thats what were up to, even if I have to get it my self. The sisters were down to help and I have a solid plan, the props, and the familiarity to handle it quicklike.

I popped one of my synthetic eyes into my mouth and pretended to scour the scene with it.

“How’ld you get the DNA code from the pig?” Anais didn’t know the depths of decoding.

Traditionally it was necessary to undergo a number of processes for organ replicas. I spit out the eye and explained “Organ replicas can be done now almost flawlessly just by standard measurements and identification information which can all be accessed from the police headquarters website.” I had a friend at the community hospital lab that was assisting most of my projects. “I gathered the info and the Doc spit out a set of eyes.”

It was funny to me that after so many waves of technological innovation and socialization, that the government was still using eyes scanning security systems. I guess its all they have to go on.

You bring some candy?” It was the only thing I needed that wasn’t already dialed in.

“And you know this.”

“It was a bit like cocaine, except instead of speeding up your tongue, making your palms sweaty, and pushing your guts through, it made you drop to the floor and visualize yourself floating through space. It became a favorite for anesthesiologists all over. And it works with such a low dose that its relatively undetectable.

“The wagon is going to be dropped off at 2:45 out back, behind Snaketown. The clothes will be inside. If we separate, meet me a few minutes before. Your clocks say 12:14 right now?”

“Thats affirmative captain.”

“Eye, eye, sir.” Everyones a smart-ass when they can be.

“You got a paddy wagon lined up?”

“Hells yea sisters, and right before we get in the wagon a call will be made stating that two prostitutes were picked up and being taken in. I’m telling you, this is all on me, and its all covered. Just pretend you’re a street worker until we see the goods, grab everything we can, and peace the funk out.”

I was hyped. This was going to be fucking big.
The Emtrain quietly slowed to a stop.

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*•*+*+*+*+*+

Snaketown was booming. The deejay circuit was out of control. A collective of deejays had emerged that kept every DJ interested, traveling. You could spin every night if you wanted in a different city. Of course that was possible independently, but to be part of the network would guarantee a full house in even remote communes. It also kept all the music fresh. They are like nomad gypsy deejay warriors battling the encroachment of silence and machine hum the world over. Tonight there was some cats from Japan, Africa, the tribal Lands, and Australia. The band I came here to see is a group of people descended from Manu Chow and Fela Kuti, both in family lineage and style orientation.

While I love the music that comes through here, I have to admit its the ambiance I come here for. Most of the thug-life wanna-be-hard rocks died off during the last Gang Wars to the Front Lines Farce. Every few years the government’s Ministry of Disinformation would create skirmishes between local gangs to provoke them into killing each other. It is extremely successful. At times I feel sorry for the kids that get tied into it, but I just keep telling myself that they make these decisions with full awareness. Its some sort of cultural phenomenon, or a self-imposed suicide pact stealing the souls of potential revolutionaries. I guess they need to live and die as robots first.
Women are hella respected here too. After a few groups of radical feminists publicly lynched a number of rapists during the days of chaos men began behaving with much more respect for women. Now we can dance like we feel without every Dick with a swollen member thinking we want to fuck him right here and now. No more of this “show me your tits” objectifying bullshit that went on in my grandmothers day.

We had picked up a few beers to support the artists and ‘maintain the fade. Since the club was collectively run, most of the money went straight to the artists without passing by a landlord or a government process first. I kept zoning out on the overhead projection, thinking about tonight and how it was going to focus my direction. The 3D hologram projection field made the skateboarders look as if they were going to land right on the crowd. The sisters had found some friends to blab it up with and I was drifting in and out of semi-sensitive trance keeping my alcohol level constant. Dont want to be sloppy drunk, just confident drunk. In and out. Get what I want and just a few other things. Should be cake.

My band was playing so I moseyed to the front and let loose. It was a 15 person ensemble, with a large drum and horn section that electrified the air. They played a good 45 minute set, but I swear I fell into a trance and entered a timeless state. What they were saying melted into the sounds and the harmonic background vocalizations. There were a few lines in particular that really spoke to me and stuck inside my internal narration. It went like…/ patterns are rhythms / rhythms repetitions / repeat all intentions / to solidify your wisdom /. I thought it was brilliant, Ima keep that one with me. One of the guys invited me and anyone with me back to an after party. I was feelin like bedding with some foreign dude, I just have way too much shit to handle tonight still.

It was after 2 already so I started gravitating to the ladies. I wanted to make sure they didnt get too smashed, fucking lushes. So many kids are so used to consuming as much alcohol as they possibly can. Its as if its normal to be an alkie.

“Aye,” I figured that would suffice.

“Gimme 5.” Anais was pulling clients. She secretly hated men. Thats why she would talk them into trying DOM and then just punish the shit out of them. As if they had all wronged her somehow.

I drifterd towards the back to see the wagon fall into place.

Beauvoir was back there making out with one of the female performers. She claimed bi, but I dont think she really liked men either.

“Ahem.” I had to. This was serious.

“Oh hey. This is Fatigo.” She’s from Ghana. “Assata,” as she casually waves her hand towards me.

“Pleasure.” I would love to talk. But again…

“Call me if you come back through,”

“Goodnight” and she blackened into the darkness.

And like a clown car, the paddy wagon bounced around the comer into the light. Holy shit, its all about to happen.

“Yea, but you stole this thing if it comes out, drugged me and left me behind. Comprende?”

“Si. Gracias mi hermana.” I look to Beauvoir. “Anais?”

“U…h….mmm.” and she appeared as Beauvoir stretched out her drunken uhmm.

“Lets do this.” and I opened the back.

“You sure about this?” of course they had doubts.

“Absofuckinglutely. Get in.”I jumped up front and changed clothes. The wagon was still running. The sisters changed as well.

“Yall ready?” My blood began to pump faster, my pupils opened up and I started with some deeper breathing, as I stepped on the gas. I flipped the coppers sirens on for a few minutes since I doubted this experience would come again soon and its always been a fantasy of mine.

“What the fuck are you doing?!?” They demanded.

“ok, ok, I’ll flip em off,” we should be a bit careful still.

“What the fuck? Dont drag this shit out, Assata.”

“chill. Its nothing. You guys ready?”

“Yea, we’re fucking ready.”
“Alright, were almost there.”

We pulled into the alley behind Madison. “Here we are.”

I used the magnetic card strip Jayce left behind to get into the lot.

Over to the left, around the 1st loading dock, and into the second.

“Oh shit. Here it is.” I had my hat pulled down tight, slightly hunched to conceal my chest, and I walked around the wagon to get the girls out. “At least pretend to have the fucking handcuffs on!” Damn it, this is the sketchiest part. “Come on ladies,” I banged the baton against the truck, pigs were always doing dumb shit like that.

I had Anais with my right arm, while I held my second set of eyes with my left for quick removal. Beauvoir followed.

It was about 3:30, the end of a long shift for the internal desk

clerk who was seated just inside the door.

“Hows the sweets?” This needed to be done very swiftly.

“Ready to explode,” Anais was with it.

I took one last deep breath and leaned forward into

the identification screen with my replicas of Officer Dave Dickowitz’s eyeballs, the main coordinator of the evidence room. He wasn’t due in for another half hour. The doors opened right up.

“Morning Dave,” fucking idiot didn’t even look up. Anais had blasted him with a cloud before he even realized that no one here was Dave, until it was too late. He smacked his head on the desk as he passed out. I quickly rewound the security tapes and hit play, showing only a minor glitch and giving us about 15 minutes.

“This way!” I shouted as I ran down the hall to the evidence room. I had grabbed doofus’ ID card and opened the evidence room with it.

“Holy Shit,” I stood there and took it all in, with the sisters absorbing it on both sides of me.

“Wow,” they were blown away as well.

“Beauvoir, get the black books! Anais, the paraphernalia! I’ll get the hard drives!” I shouted as I grabbed a box and dumped everything in.

“What the fuck are these books?” Beauvoir was talking about the stacks and volumes of literature and research that seemed to make up most of this stuff.

“Just fucking grab as much as you can, NOW! Stuff it in a box, we’ll sort through it later!” We didn’t really have that much time.

I had gotten all the digital media I could find and the ladies boxes were almost full as well and then I saw it. “Wa, wa, wa what the fuck is that?”

“A Glowing orb,” Anais acted as if she had seen one before.

“what the fuck does it… Fuck it, I’m taking it. You guys

ready?”
“Ready.”
“Ready.”

We hurried back to the paddy wagon and put the stuff inside. I jumped up front and we zoomed out of the lot. I had arraigned for a graffiti crew to pick us up behind 4th ave and Jackson and leave the pig vehicle there. We grabbed the shit and piled into my mans white van, finally cracking smiles and a few anxious laughs.

The problem it seems most of the time is starting, or rather postponing the start. I find more and more, every project, every interest, every activity is dragged on to infinity or some distant now in the future. Once you, or I, specifically, come around to actually allowing my potential energy to transform to kinetic energy, the hardest part is over. And like that point when you are doing something routine and you count half and you feel as if you are on the decline of the necessary work that needs to be done, say like when half the month is over, or half the dishes, or half the pages are read, … at that point you are more than half way done, because most of the work was handled as soon as your eyes or hands got busy with the task at hand.

Of course we must be mentally prepared to handle what needs or wants to be done, and it’s a good idea to plan accordingly, talk experiences with others, allocate resources, funds, or plans, give ourselves space to consider the project/s in different mindsets states (whatever that means to you) or emotional states, and even consider the project from others perspectives. This really is almost half the work. Deciding to handle something, stepping up with the tools and interest, and engaging with hands and mind/s, begins the difference between talking about something and doing it. In a very light-hearted but yet real way, this is a form of direct action. There is seldom reason to over-think or over-prepare for projects. The interest of this sentiment is to incite minds to act, and to encourage action. I say this to self as much as other.
Get to doing what you want. Get started.

This, my friends, is the intro to one of my blog personas. File under Too Many Projects. Often (really always, yet I do sometimes find my self embracing the concept of free time and feeling like nothing is immediately due), I feel like I have, or there are, too many projects I wish to engage in or see happen. I imagine this is a result of ambition and I’m sure this feeling is shared by many.
Since we are here, transcribing from my brain and body, and theres no real great way to hear what you, the reader, wants to see happen unless you share it here or elsewhere… we’ll have to stick with my project ideas… you know, the point of this here blog…
that being said…I want to also explain that there’s no real way for me to handle everything I want, and if others end up doing something that aligns with my project interests, I will gladly move on and do something else (another project). I am also open to working with (almost) anyone on (almost) anything.
My main self identity construct especially regarding projects is as a designer; mostly graphic, some web, clothes, events, and uhm…lets say miscellaneous. So most of my projects will assume these forms. My political, cultural, and religious orientation is simple and universal. I believe in freedom for all peoples. I believe in aggressive equality world-wide. No borders, and no empires. So, if I am not personally struggling to help me and my family eat and pay the troll, I may be open to help design things, especially if they are more radically minded.
Ok…lets see…
this week I would love to

Layout the Phone Photo Issue of Pholx (which is still open for participation) and is basically gonna be 36 pages of 30 peoples phone photos…yet I am still waiting on contributions…

Design logo (hand draw monkey and squid for new 5th st kids store) I love the challenge of a good logo, especially one with animals, cause I don’t my self great at it.

Reupholster barstools for Jobot. I think there is just over a dozen. I just did 3 a few weeks ago and it went quick. Thought about making it a workshop, just cant tell which would require more work. I’ll probably do it at the Lab on Roosevelt, since I have barely used the sewing studio there.

Move the sewing studio. Besides the studio I don’t use at the Lab, I have another set of machines and tables in my shed, and Steve and Julia at the Hive said I can move it in there. Which, the Hive is 2 blocks from my house so it may come in more handy.

Create Text for the Learning Flower. Learningflower.com If you don’t see me in person or on fb or insta…the learning flower is a dense layered set of symbol systems I am developing as a fridge magnet puzzle product. If I type up a good explanation of how to use it (like my friends have been saying for months) another friend will help me market it. Otherwise, how the hell do you share a good idea or product?

Create Text for the number spiral. A math professor at ASU said he would help me develop this system for understanding numbers and relationships that I stumbled upon. Its easy and basic, yet fascinating. Heres the trip, all numbers fit into a spiral shape system of the 12 positions of the clock and behave accordingly. Kinda like mod math 12 but using all numbers.

Add the numbers to the number spiral mural. I am painting a mural of the number spiral and wanted most of it up before the Willow home tour feb 10th…cause its visible from 3rd ave.

Meter Maid Stickers. This jerkface meter man sucked $70 out of my pocket last month and this is how I was able to vent it and let it go.

Come up with good location and scenario for life-like dummy. I don’t know what it is, but something compels me to make life-like puppets and dummies.

Blog a little. Booyah!

Website construction/maintenance. I just bought Mobaction.com again and I am not sure if I just wanna use phlox.com or if I should develop a site again for mob action and mobaction university. I’m also in the thinking stages of developing foreignpolicyfailures.com

Foreign Policy Failures. I need to network with another 2 artists for the mini clothing line.

“That doesn’t make any sense. They’re not the same thing.” Tho Erastus was right, he always popped retorts in as jabs. This time was no different.
The fuck you mean, they aint the same?” Hedgebeard was ticked anytime someone questioned him, but especially after finishing a joke. He felt that even if you didn’t like the joke; just shut the fuck up so others could laugh.
The sun was steady, standing, staring from just over the rooftops, a bit to the north, after a long, hot, dry as dirt, afternoon. It was late June but felt like July. The group of jobless gents were stationed in the back, each in shorts and shades, by the shed, casually passing a spliff. The economy had freed up everyones days, yet many of them still preoccupied their time with thinking about and even looking for jobs that were just not there.
Erastus was aware of Hedgebeards stark defensive ways, but given the content and context, he was game for an argument.
“They’re not. Look it up.”
“Yo, I live by the Yam. My moms cooks a bang-up Turkey stuffed dinner every year, peoples all over this country do too and we call sweet potatoes, yams.” He was already tired of the discussion but wasn’t gonna let Erastus ruin his joke.
“Dude, let it go. Everyones wrong. Your joke is cute but it only works because people are culturally naïve and insensitive.” Erastus was letting his arrogance shine through.
Hedge and the other guys standing around listening busted up into laughter. “Ok mr. college dropout, lay it on me…”
“Sweet potatoes aint shit, and yams are a giant part of some African cultures.”
The laughter erupted once again. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Hedgebeard was speaking for everyone at this point.
Erastus decides to yuck it up. “Sweet potatoes are the size of your fist; Yams are the size of your leg. Yams are an important part of African culture and history. Yam means ‘to eat’ and is celebrated in numerous places. People even speak of a ‘Yam civilization’ and it’s used in magic rites. In Tonga, the calendar months names are derived from the yam. So, yeah, theres’ a fucking difference and you’re turkey basting joke only makes sense because people don’t know. “
“Jesus-fucking-pedia…you just finish watching a documentary?” Even if his joke was ruined, Hedgebeard could always keep em laughing. “Pass that shit here…I need to kill off a brain cell or two.”
Even funny people have the random blahzay moments. Hedgebeard nodded to Jase, “you buying any of this shit…?”
The sun finally gave out, scaling back slowly to reflect off of a few dwindling surfaces. Warm gusts of air swept through like stale ghost whispers, encouraging each person to wonder if it felt good.
Jase had a much more collected demeanor and could usually be counted on as a point of reference with any given situation. Typically quite, with a chilled smile and crescent eyes shielded behind female locs,’ his smile stretched and he cracked open, chuckling, “I don’t know man, yams, sweet potatoes, who fucking knows..?”
Erastus had lost his patience like he often did.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me, I do! and I’m telling you guys… if you would like to be in the fucking know, listen up, Yams are not sweet potatoes!” At times he felt cursed to know and care about things. Such a tragedy, he thought. Shaking his head as he over-exaggerated rolling his eyes, he dramatically turns, and walks away.
“You’re a fucking turkey!” Hedgebeard had em laughing again as he clowned Erastus from a reference to his original joke.
He called back, participating, “I am what I Yam!”